"Pure alcohol?" August repeated. "Is she following the miasma theory—trying to cure it with pure alcohol?"
He frowned as he spoke.
"But that would make little sense. As you yourself must know, buying so much Grain for your stills is extremely expensive. Ordinary citizens could never afford such a treatment, much less use it regularly. It might serve the wealthy, perhaps—but even then it would be a dangerous gamble."
Francisco shook his head, a sharp, almost clinical smile crossing his face. He gestured for August and Heyne to step closer to the long laboratory table where Catalina was working.
"You are thinking like a physician of the old world, August," Francisco said, his voice lowering to an intense, thoughtful tone. "You think of alcohol as a medicine to be swallowed—a luxury for the stomach. But Catalina does not use it to cure smallpox once it has taken hold."
He tapped the edge of the table lightly.
"She uses it to purify the threshold."
